


Maharaja

by ladyflowdi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Amnesia, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Harems, M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-15
Updated: 2007-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/ladyflowdi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Vizier blamed it on the head wound that had gotten him into this particular situation to begin with, and the Maharaja was more than willing to go along with it, because hello. He had a Vizier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maharaja

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a humor piece -- yeah, I didn't believe it either. I'd totally forgotten I'd even written this, hah.

The first thing the Maharaja did, after waking up in a strange bed to be told he was Prince Regent of a vast empire technically still under the rule of his aged, dying father, was to swoon and faint. It wasn’t the most macho of things, he knew, seeing as how he was supposed to be the bravest, most virile man in the kingdom (after said aged, dying father of course); it‘s just, he didn‘t _feel_ very brave or virile. No one was amused when he woke up again, for which he was painfully grateful. His Vizier blamed it on the head wound that had gotten him into this particular situation to begin with, and the Maharaja was more than willing to go along with it, because hello. He had a _Vizier_.

It turned out he was rich, though ‘rich’ wasn’t really the right word, since it implied that the Maharaja wasn’t dazzlingly wealthy in ways his Vizier could not properly articulate. He was informed that he had sixteen homes across his empire, forty three hidden vaults filled with more riches than any one person could accumulate in a single lifetime, and was currently residing in his most opulent palace, the center of the empire and the seat of his power. He had eight state wives who provided the royal offspring, sixty six of them, which the Vizier rushed to add was quite a healthy amount, even if he’d always been a bit on the stingy side when it came to wives. Too many women were hard to please. Nudge, wink, etcetera.

The Maharaja could deal with this. He may not have remembered who he was, but he very calmly accepted the royal children, his devoted and submissive wives, even the riches. What he could not accept was -- “I’m sorry?” He said, snapping the golden thread in the fine texture of his house coat he‘d been tugging at since he’d woken up. His feet were cold. They were also glittering with jewels. He stared at them from where they peaked from the thick skin blanket of the most exotically patterned creature he’d ever seen. He was still woozy enough that the pattern danced in his eyes.

“The harem, Prince Regent. Your wives have been notified of your condition and are being rushed from the country palace, but there is the matter of your lords and ladies in waiting.”

The Maharaja stared at him. “My harem?” He hoped, hoped as hard as he could, that the man wasn’t about to tell him that-- 

“Your pleasure slaves, Prince Regent,” the Vizier said, bowing low. 

That seemed… wrong, very, very _wrong_ , prostitution and slavery. For sex! He had _eight wives_ for crying out loud, why did he need -- “How many?”

The Vizier beamed with pride. It came across very sneer-like, and the Maharaja reminded himself that he apparently liked and trusted this guy. “Three hundred and twelve. Your newest acquisition arrived this morning, soon after you were injured.”

“Yeah, about that,” the Maharaja said, willing to forever strike the last five minutes of their conversation from his memory. “You haven’t been too forth coming with how exactly it is that I’m so important and yet somehow received a head wound that led to my seemingly convenient memory loss,” the Maharaja said, touching the aching goose egg on the back of his head. It hurt to the touch, and he expected his hair to be stiff with blood, but instead it was soft, sliding through his fingers.

“All in good time, my Prince. You should rest now, and tomorrow I will explain in greater length and take you on a tour of your palace.”

Now that he said it, the Maharaja _was_ feeling a little tired. His eyes were heavy, and his feet were still cold. Had to be all the gold rings on his toes. As if on cue waiting servants the Maharaja refused to think of as slaves rushed forward and began to plump his pillows, tuck the blankets around his feet, massage his hands, and offer him a sip of refreshment. 

It was the weirdest thing he’d ever experienced, _bar none_ , but the Maharaja trusted himself to know what was best for… himself, so he let himself fall asleep, listening to the patter of sandals on marble floor.

*

The next day dawned and, surprise, the Maharaja still had no idea who he was. The city doctors were called in and they examined him from head to toe, apparently without finding anything wrong with him other than the monster lump on the back of his noggin. There was ritual blood letting (though why he needed more blood taken out of his body was a mystery), and enchantments murmured, and the Maharaja thought it was possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever seen. They must have seen the discontent on his face because they abruptly paled and the Vizier had them thrown out.

After that it was a tour of the grounds, his enormous, ostentatious palace that sat on a hill overlooking the entire capital city. The Maharaja’s father apparently loved gold and when he’d had the palace built he’d used it for everything, from wallpaper to the grout in the marble, though how the hell he managed that one was a mystery. Everything glittered, the jewel in the city’s crown, magnificent and beautiful and the Maharaja thought that it was almost impossible he owned such splendor. He was a regular kind of guy, and this was, dare he say it, on the gaudy side.

The Vizier took him into each area and room. He had gardens, as far as the eye could see, stretching so far that he saw it kiss the sea in the west. He had ballrooms, state rooms, relaxation rooms. He had servants by the hundreds, thousands even, indoor servants and outdoor servants, servants for food and for clothing and for cleaning, all maintaining the grandeur of the palace. He was, apparently, an avid horseman, because he owned fifty thoroughbreds in the most dazzling white he’d ever seen. He had a herd of six hundred cattle, fourteen outdoor pools for frolicking, two libraries with over nine thousand scrolls, and fifteen carriages in solid gold, for caravans across his empire. 

Maybe it was the shock from all that splendor that had him so bewildered, but he didn’t realize they were entering another building set in the center of his gardens until the Vizier was opening the door, and the Maharaja stepped into the bounty that he’d reaped from his satellite states.

Women and men, as far as the eye could sea. It was a room of decadence so intense and so unexpected that the Maharaja sucked in a dizzying breath, because seriously, a little warning would have been nice. They were caramel skinned, drenched in jewels and gold. Some were pierced, some were nude, some were touching each other. Some were eating the sweet fruit the Maharaja had enjoyed that very morning. Some were clustered together, playing games, while others slept on mounds of pillows. Some lay sprawled. Some were sensuous vixens, all mystery, while others were sweet as virgins. They were the most beautiful people he’d ever seen in his life. 

Save one.

The clamor of voices were overwhelmed by the screaming curses of a man chained to the floor in the center of all that debauchery. His skin was creamy and he wore his age, though that may have been because the people around him were so tight and taut as to be unreal. It didn’t help that he was so pale, either because he was screaming every obscenity he knew, red as a tomato, eyes like fire. 

“I‘m not kidding!” The man bellowed, an ox at his yoke, wrenching at the chains so hard that the Maharaja thought he was going to dislocate something for sure. He had really big shoulders. “I swear to _God_ that if you leave me here for one more second I will _kill you all_!” he screamed, spittle flying, rage filling every line of his body. 

More expletives came out o the man’s mouth, each more creative than the last, and the Maharaja couldn’t say for sure, but he thought maybe he’d never been so hard in his entire life. 

“Uh,” the Maharaja said intelligently. 

Everyone turned, and suddenly the harem people were on the floor, kowtowing, men and women alike. Some of the women burst into tears at the sight of him, yanking at their hair, and the closest ones kissed his toes. Which, ew, no, wrong, he’d been walking all day and he had a feeling that he was well known for his funky toe odor. 

“Hi,” the Maharaja said.

The guy who was chained up suddenly stopped screaming, eyes wide, and if the Maharaja thought he’d been yanking at his chains _before_ it was nothing to what he did now. He wrenched so hard the Maharaja winced for him, because ow, and started screaming about space babes and Kirkian tendencies or something. It didn’t mean anything to the Maharaja, though he thought maybe it should. 

The Vizier smiled brightly. “Your newest acquisition, my Prince. He is an untamed beast aching to be broken by your fair hand, a nobleman of a conquered kingdom.”

The chained man started cursing again, something about fucking mothers and fucking horses, and pretty much just using the word ‘fuck’ a lot. The Maharaja didn’t know what it meant, but if what was coming out of the guy’s mouth was anything to go by, it wasn’t pleasant. 

“I can see that,” the Maharaja said. He didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was aroused, because seriously, he’d probably had sex with everyone inside the room at some point or another if he’d understood right. He was a little embarrassed, though. He still didn’t feel very virile. Plus, the people on the floor, whimpering with delight, were freaking him out. 

“Uh. What do I normally do with new people?”

“You have them taken to your private chambers and show them who is their true lord and master.”

There the Vizier went again, sneering like it’d go out of style, and the Maharaja squirmed a little uncomfortably. Besides, the chained up guy didn’t look like he’d take any advances on his person well. ‘Try to chomp off his dick’ came to mind. ‘Driving a knife into his heart’ even. Plus, the Maharaja didn’t feel like forcing anybody. It wasn‘t a very gentlemanly thing to do. “And if I don’t take him to my chambers?”

“You will deem him unworthy of your attention and he will be slaughtered and fed to your family in the ritual power feast.”

Right. He wasn’t feeling that well to begin with, but the matter-of-fact way the Vizier said they’d be _eating_ this poor bastard made the Maharaja feel even more woozy. The guy in the chains seemed to agree, because very abruptly he stopped screaming and went white at the words. “Okay, we’re not eating him. Seriously, how messed up is that?”

The Vizier straightened, sniffing. “It has been a tradition in you family since your great, great, great grandfather.”

The Maharaja didn’t want to know. “Look. Just have him brought to my chambers. Don’t hurt him and for the love of God, don’t chop him up and put him in lentils, or whatever you people do. I’m going to go lie down before I throw my stomach lining up.”

*

The rest of the day was filled with the lying down part, and then some speeches, and talking to officials, and wow, there was a lot of work in running an empire. People wanted bridges and roads and disputes settled, and there was the matter of economic decline in the western territories causing inflation, the bandit thieves plaguing the court houses, and other stuff that gave the Maharaja a huge headache.

When he wasn’t wondering why this whole running-an-empire business wasn’t a full-man team effort, he thought about the chained guy in his chambers. Not that the Maharaja had taken more than a cursory glance into said chambers on the grand tour, but it’d looked comfortable enough. And by ‘comfortable’ he meant decadent to the extreme, of course. It sucked that the guy was chained up, but he had a few servants go see about food and peeing and all that during the day. They usually came back in tears but that, the Maharaja thought, was inevitable. 

Strangely enough, a ball of tension formed in his gut and stayed all through dinner. Anticipation, maybe… lust? He didn’t know, but all he got were a few mouthfuls down before he decided to retire for the night. The Vizier gave him that slightly sleazy smile of his as he left, but the Maharaja ignored it. 

He got to his rooms amidst a throng of servants and guards, but when they made to come in with him he kept them back because honestly, this was going to be embarrassing enough as it was and he didn‘t need witnesses.

His chambers were lush, though that was kind of an understatement. It was all tall windows open to the night breeze with fluttering curtains, thick rugs and linens, and sheets threaded with gold. An then, then there was the bed. 

It was huge. Probably bigger than anything the Maharaja had ever seen. He could have fit twenty people on it and still had plenty of room to spare. The thick mattress was surrounded with sheer gauze to keep the bugs away. Candles were it, providing the only light.

The man was still trussed like a turkey, but instead of being chained to the floor like the Maharaja had half expected, his hands were tied to one of the pillars that made up the four corners of his bed. He was naked, bare, miles of pale skin, curves of shoulder and backside, long lines of leg. Just the way he was tied, the way he was sitting, made the sweet bow of his back arch, made his chest thrust out, head low with subservience. His hands were tied, clenched into fists, his thighs trembling and shadowed, hiding all that the Maharaja wanted to see. He was older, yes, but he was absolutely breathtaking, beautiful like the Maharaja didn’t think he’d ever seen, and his body began to fan a slow ache in him. The want was incredible, like he’d never felt. Or maybe he’d felt many times, but this was as new an experience to him as was everything else that had happened in the last two days.

“You’re here. It’s about fucking time!”

Just like that the bubble burst, and the Maharaja blinked stupidly at the man, who’d kneeled up and was glaring at him like he was shit on the bottom of his shoe. “You’re sick to the head, Sheppard. If this is some elaborate prank on your part, please _please_ let it be a prank, fine, you win. You have reduced me to a whore on this backwater hellhole of a planet. Congratulations! Now let me go and lets get _out_ of here before the cavalry shows up and finds you wearing pants last seen in _The King and I_.”

The Maharaja stared at him. There wasn’t much else he _could_ do. “Uh. Let’s pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man stared right back, one beat, two, then clunked his head on the pillar, groaning. “Oh, God, we’re dead. They’re going to burst in here and find me naked and you with a boner -- my ass is great, and I get that you’re an amnesiac, but seriously, since when are you gay? -- and then they’re going to laugh. You’ll be thrown out of the military, go back to Earth in ruins, a broken and bitter man. Where are you going?”

The Maharaja stopped a second on his slow assent forward. “Um. What’s your name?”

“My _name_? Are you kidding me? We’re in the middle of a crisis here! There’s no need to know my name!” The man kicked out one panicked leg, and the Maharaja felt the blood drop throbbing into his dick. “Stay away or I won’t be responsible for what I do!”

“I’m the Maharaja, Prince Regent for my dying father. Um, and apparently you’re a prince from the Ring, whatever that is, and you’re in my harem now,” the Maharaja said, inching closer, wary of flailing limbs. He held his hands out, hoping the calm the guy down. “Which is weird, but. It makes sense. You’re really beautiful.”

“I --” The man went red again, but the Maharaja didn’t know if it was in anger or embarrassment. Either way, the pinked cheeks were pretty, prettier than the Maharaja could hope to withstand. “Sheppard, seriously, snap out of it. I’m not kidding!” He jerked his leg out again, flailing it like a club.

The Maharaja rolled his eyes. “Look. If I untie you, are you going to do hideous and terrible things to my person?”

The man blinked, leg still out, but when he saw the Maharaja wasn’t kidding about it he scoot forward, giving the ropes a little more slack. “No. What could I do? Helpless scientist here! Girls regularly kick my ass! Though Teyla is an Amazon, so I don’t know if she counts.”

The Maharaja didn’t know what any of that meant, but he started untying the man, because _honestly_. “I’m assuming, since you keep calling me whatever that name is, that I’m not the Maharaja?”

“Uh, that would be a no. Your name is John Sheppard. Their Prince Regent got trampled in a horse riding incident last week. Or something, I don’t really care. They hit you on the head, grabbed me and dragged me to this gaudy hell hole to be your sex slave. I’m no one’s sex slave!” 

Oh man, there it was again, that ache low in the Maharaja’s belly. He apparently had a thing for feisty people and this guy was ringing all his bells in a very big way. He was also doing a really bad job of hiding it, because the guy was looking at him curiously, rubbing his wrists and sitting back on his haunches. 

“How do I know this isn’t a ruse just so you can escape?”

“Because! I don’t know!” the man snapped back at him. “You’re just going to have to trust me, unless you want to live the rest of your life here in the lap of luxury, your every desire fulfilled, with buxom babes who -- okay, forget that, you do _not_ want to spend the rest of your life here! These people are cannibals!”

The Maharaja scrunched his face up. “Ew.”

The man rolled his eyes and the Maharaja’s attention was brought immediately to his shoulders, the long, thick line of them, and for one visceral moment he could almost feel those shoulders under his hands as he held them, fucking thick and deep and in. Could feel them against the back’s of his knees as the man drove forward, pushing into the Maharaja‘s body with brutal intensity, splitting him open and making him scream. Could see them in a silvery place made of light, with a too-small bed and the ocean right outside his window.

“You’re totally hot for this, aren’t you?”

The Maharaja jerked, feeling his face burn. “Sorry.” He waved a hand, encompassing all of the guy’s hotness. Seriously hot.

The guy blinked, and blushed so that the Maharaja could feel the heat from his skin. “Okay. Look, it’s great you’re gay, because hello. But this?” He waved one expressive hand around. “This is a kink for a later time. After much painful, manly discussion, in which we will grunt at each other. Let’s get out of here.”

The Maharaja didn’t bother pointing out that the guy had no pants on, though pants seemed a logical choice. Didn’t matter either way, because within a matter of minutes they had every bed sheet and gauzy curtain in the joint fashioned into a nice rope, save one which served as the man’s toga, and they were climbing down the wall like escape artists. 

It was really fun, until they met up with some guys wearing green and carrying guns in the bushes, and a caveman with rope for hair blasted him unconscious.

*

It took John exactly forty eight hours to recover. He was eating a purple French fry when it happened. One second he was the Maharaja, next -- “Oh. Huh. Hey, somebody get me my laptop, I left World of Warcraft running last week.” And when Rodney glared at him, John rolled his eyes and said, “What! It was supposed to be a milk run! I didn’t know I’d get knocked over the head and become the head guy of a whole civilization!” And when that didn’t work, “I had a _harem_. The least you could do is get my laptop!”

Oh yeah, and after he got out of the infirmary he had a mini freak out and then promptly got over the whole ‘military commander, I could get thrown out of Atlantis, woe, I can never allow myself to have that magnificent ass’ thing. He and Rodney had the raunchiest, kinkiest, hottest sex ever. Something about, “Oh, my Prince Regent, yes, fuck me with your big golden cock!”

It worked out pretty well, seeing as how John could play the part of virile Maharaja to the T, and Rodney already had the damsel-in-distress thing down to an art form.


End file.
